


The Only Living Thing

by Anemonepages



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, F/M, M/M, Mostly Sadness, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 06:32:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18463427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemonepages/pseuds/Anemonepages
Summary: Only death and destruction followed him, only pain was wrought upon the ones he cared for.It would be better for everyone if he was gone.It would be better.





	The Only Living Thing

Everything was numb after the fire. The jolt to his knees didn’t register as he fell to the ground. The hands on his shoulders or the blanket they brought weren’t even a brush of wind. Laura’s cries, everything, was pale in comparison to the fire still raging.

A beam of the roof collapsed and all he could do was watch as everything fell down around him.

*

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt something so sharp as the sting of chlorine down his throat. He could barely breathe around it, had to squint his eyes against the sear of chemicals and fluorescent lights to glare at Stiles.

“Don’t give me that look,” he gasped out, “I’m 148 pounds of brains and sarcasm, holding 200 pounds of deadweight werewolf. At least try and look grateful.”

When Stiles let go, Derek couldn’t decide if it was a bad thing.

*

Laura tried to block out the scents of a city bursting at its seams. She stuffed towels under the doors and by window frames, filled the apartment with plants already wilting in the light coming through the window. Went out of her way, out of budget, to buy organic foods, despite the oven halfway to dead and the stove gas heated.

Derek couldn’t tell her the only thing he could smell anymore was ash.

*

He heard the jeep rattling up through the preserve about a mile away, always mildly surprised that duct tape and hope still kept it running.

Standing on the front porch, he watched as Stiles flailed his way out of the car, somehow banging an arm and a leg in such little time. He couldn’t decide if it was embarrassing or if it was amusing. Maybe both.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” He called. The boy looked surprised that he asked, hands at the ready to gesture their way through an explanation before he shoved them through his hair instead.

“Scott thinks he knows where Erica and Boyd are, didn’t bother-“ the sentence cut off in a wheeze as Derek shoved him against the door of the jeep,

“Where are they.”

“If you would’ve let me finish instead of using me as your own personal punching bag,” Derek unclenched his fists from flannel, three steps back, “Mister I’m too cool for punctuation, Scott didn’t bother divulging his newfound wisdom with me.” Rolled his eyes, “probably off frolicking with Allison,” he muttered bitterly.

“So you came all the way out here to complain about Scott?”

“No, you douchebag, I came here to tell you it’s not the alpha pack who has them. It’s Gerard Argent.”

That made Derek stop, made him actually look. Bruises littered Stiles face like they were going out of fashion. A bust up lip that still looked raw. His arm seemed to be unconsciously wrapped around himself, as if there was hurt underneath all the layers.

“What happened?” Stiles seemed to sag against the jeep, arm wrapped tight.

“Gerard is surprisingly strong for a man his age.”

It was only when Stiles had left, when not even the jeep could be heard, that Derek pried his claws away from bloody palms.

*

“Der, why won’t you talk to me?”

He resolutely ignored her, kept his head buried in his book.

“You’re all I have left,” she pleaded, “I don’t want to lose you too.”

Closed his book, went to his bedroom, locked the door.

She didn’t know it was Derek’s fault. He was too selfish to tell her, too afraid of the disgust, of the hatred that would follow if she did. Having her at an arms length was better than not having her at all.

*

_Death is the only thing I do._

*

The water was red.

He couldn’t feel the water soaked into his jeans. He couldn’t hear Cora’s sobs, the splashes and ripples as people moved about. He couldn’t taste the blood in his mouth, as heavy as it sat on his tongue. He could only see Boyd, see Boyd’s blood on his claws, his life in his hands - ripped apart. At some point Boyd was lifted out of the water, taken somewhere by someone.

The water was red.

He couldn’t feel himself hyperventilating. Couldn’t feel the tears in his eyes, as if his body just knew what to do, didn’t need recognition to mourn. Just kept on seeing his beta impaled on his claws. The shock in his eyes. The resignation.

The water was red.

The water was red.

The water-

“Derek.” A hand on his shoulder, long fingers twisting cotton. He didn’t say anything else, just kept his hand there, thumb resolutely against the back of his neck. Stood there for what could have been minutes or hours as Derek just stared at the spot Boyd had been. He only left once Cora came back and got Derek onto his feet, hand sliding away slowly as if Derek would crumble without it.

He felt that phantom touch for weeks.

*

This was the fifth time Derek had skipped out on his family. He had an older girl - woman - waiting for him; a gorgeous, smart, witty woman.

He could write sonnets about the golden tints of her hair, the way she looked above him, pressed against him in her car. Sometimes he did, got her to grade them. He always blushed when he handed those ones in.

That morning she gave back his A+ essay with a note to meet her that night on the lacrosse field. It was the full moon, and his control wasn’t always the best, but he knew he’d be extra careful if he was with her. So he turned off his phone, blocked out the texts from his family asking where he was. And he waited in the library until the school was empty, until even the janitor was nearly finished with his work, nearly vibrating out of his skin.

He could already feel the whisper of her lips against his.

Half an hour out on the lacrosse field and she still wasn’t there.

_Maybe she forgot._

_Maybe she’s still in her classroom._

And then he heard the sirens. They were far, but close enough for his ears to pinpoint where they were, where they were heading.

He’d never run as fast as he did that night. Even with the weight of dread in his stomach, the rasps of his breath, he ran. Ran through the preserve, past the trees he’d hid behind as a kid, past the river his dad fished in, past the tree house the little ones still used.

He could already smell the smoke, see the reddish hue that didn’t belong. The blare of sirens and a million different people talking over one another. When he burst through the tree line, saw his house, his home, lit up like a torch, saw the tightness of a deputy’s face, the people holding Laura back,

When the deputy caught him as he fell,

When all he could smell was ash and pain and hurt,

His heart burned along with it.

*

“Go, Stiles.”

“I- I can’t-“

“I said go!”

He still stood there, face crumpled - anguish, at leaving _him_ \- eyes darting between the blood on his shirt and where Scott’s roars were echoing from.

“Stiles, please,” he panted, couldn’t disguise the flinch, “go help Scott.”

And if there was one thing he could rely on, one person who would listen to him, it would be Stiles. They fought and sniped at each other, shoved each other around and glared like it was a sport, but he listened. And he understood. So Stiles nodded, spine straightening like a soldier off to war - he guessed that wasn’t too far off, wished it could be so very different - and with a final glance towards Braeden, her hands over Derek’s over the wound, he ran towards the catacombs, and didn’t look back.

Derek was ready. He was ready to accept that this was it, this was the end of the road for him. He didn’t belong anymore - to a pack, to Beacon Hills, to life; he was a dead man walking, had been since he met Kate. Only death and destruction followed him, only pain was wrought upon the ones he cared for.

It would be better for everyone if he was gone.

It would be better.

*

_“Mama, when will I be a wolf?”_

_“You already are one, petal.” “No, like you mama - a real wolf.”_

_Realisation bloomed on Talia’s face._

_“That’s a rare thing for our kind, petal.”_

_Fingers through his hair._

_“Only when the moon deems us worthy, only when we prove ourselves, will we be able to release the wolf.”_

_“I can do that mama! I can proof myself!”_

_“I know you can, Derek. I look forward to it.”_

*

The first thing he did as a wolf was rip out Kate Argent’s throat.

*

He couldn’t say goodbye to Stiles. It felt like admitting that there was something there, other than the constant we’re being thrown together and forced to help each other survive. He couldn’t do that to him. Couldn’t give him another tether to the supernatural world, another reason to throw himself into danger like he wasn’t a human with fragile bones and a baseball bat.

So he packed what little stuff he had up, threw it into the boot of Braedan’s car, and left the shittiest of notes for Scott. Let Stiles find out in the shittiest way possible. Let him hate Derek, despise him, forget him.

It would be better that way.

*

“You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“I know.”

“So why are you still here?”

“It’s better this way.”

*

“You’re not going to achieve anything if your head is still in Beacon Hills.”

_The only thing I would achieve is ruin._

*

16:43 - Missed Call from Stiles

17:21 - Missed Call from Stiles

01:38 - Missed Call from Stiles

06:12 - Missed Call from Stiles

*

“What if they’re in trouble?”

“They’re not.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“They don’t need me.”

*

03:49 - 1 new voicemail from Stiles

*

“I’m going to Argentina, there’s a mission that pays well, and I can’t drag you around with me.”

She wasn’t being spiteful - that’s what he liked about Braeden, she spoke plainly, honestly. There was no hidden agenda with her.

“Okay.”

“Cora’s in Argentina right?”

“Yeah.”

“I can drop you off there, if you want.”

“I’ll stick around here.” She threw him a look he chose to ignore.

“Okay, then.”

*

A couple hours after Braeden had left, he had the duffle bags ready to go, and was on the road for Beacon Hills.

*

If Scott was any more decent at being a true alpha, he would have sensed Derek was back in town the moment he crossed territory lines.

Derek was able to disprove this theory when he sneaked up on the boy in a corner store, tapped him on the shoulder, and watched the drink he was holding fly across the store.

“Derek! What the hell, man?!”

He levelled the boy with a flat stare.

“Care to elaborate?”

“I just,” Scott stammered, eyes flickering everywhere but Derek, “wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

“It’s been a year, Scott.”

“Oh yeah, look at that, it has been - a year, since you left.” An awkward chuckle, a hand at his neck. “How time flies.”

“What’s wrong with you.”

“What? Nothing’s wrong, what-“

“Why are you being so weird?”

“You know what,” he started, thumb jerking over his shoulder, “I’ve got to run, have to pick Sti- someone! Uh, gotta pick someone up. Now. Right now. So, uh, bye.”

And he jogged out the store, the chime of the bell and a harried “see you around” to leave Derek utterly bewildered.

It all made sense when he climbed in Stiles’ room through the window.

*

“What are you doing here?”

He didn’t even look surprised. Maybe Scott had told him. He just sat in his chair, face expressionless - a new one for him. It made Derek feel unsteady, that blankness. This wasn’t the Stiles he left behind. This wasn’t who he was expecting to see today.

He pulled his too long sleeves down, fingers grappling with the leather. “I came to see you.”

“Well, here I am. In the flesh. Hope that’s satisfied you.” He turned around swiftly, fingers tapping out on the keyboard. “I think my dad’s heart would appreciate it if you learned how to use a door, by the way. There’re motion sensors now.”

“Since when do you have motion sensors?” He doesn’t know why he asked. He already knew. Stiles’ silence just hammered it in.

Cora still heard from the pack once in a while. Filled Derek in too. About Theo, about the Ghost Riders, about the complete and utter shit storm that Beacon Hills had become. A part of Derek felt so damn relieved he’d gotten out when he did. He didn’t need the hyper vigilance or the constant grime of blood and panic following him around.

Deserved it, maybe. Deserved the guilt that racked up with every mile on the meter.

Derek suddenly didn’t know what to do with himself. Usually with Stiles it was brooding or lurking or taking up space, and now he stood there in a room devoid of the posters and the red string and green string and blue string,

_“Blue’s just pretty”_

Of an innocent teenager with a young heart and a curious mind. He stood there and he wasn’t sure he belonged.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. Stiles tensed, hands stilled over the computer. “I’m so sorry.” He didn’t know if he could ever say it enough, make up for the abuse, for leaving, for not being enough.

Back still turned to Derek, Stiles whispered, “why? Why didn’t you say anything? Wh - why didn’t you call me back?”

“I...“

“I called you so many times. I even checked with Cora that your number was still the same.”

“I’m sorry-“

“Well sorry isn’t going to cut it!” He exploded out of his chair, hands to his hair as he paced a line, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

“I just, I don’t get what I did wrong. That I somehow didn’t even deserve a goodbye, but had to find out through Scott and some half assed note?! As if saving each other’s lives over and over and over wasn’t enough to warrant even some camaraderie?” Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. His words kept on getting faster, breathes turning into rasps turning into pants,

“And then I kept on calling and you ignored me and then everyone forget about me, my own dad forgot about me and you wouldn’t pick up,” voice breaking, “you wouldn’t pick up and I was ready to die and sometimes I still am, I can’t- I can’t do this-“

Derek was there in an instant, arms cradling him as gently as they knew how,

“I can’t do this,” he sobbed, hands fisted in Derek’s Henley. Shuddering against him as he struggled to breathe through the tears, still wouldn’t stop talking despite it all,

And this was the new Stiles, the broken one, a man in a boy’s body, littered in scars no one should bear. The man who had been through hell and back twice, who wielded a baseball bat like it was a sword, who was now crumbling in his arms,

“ _I can’t_ ,” he sobbed, shoulders shaking, tears soaking into his shirt.

Somehow, despite how Stiles liked to refer to him as emotionally constipated, he knew the boy didn’t need words of comfort, or apologies. He needed to be held.

So he held him. And he didn’t stop.

*

_“Hey mom, how did you know dad was it for you?”_

_Their mother looked up from her book, brow crinkled._

_“Where’s that coming from?” Laura blushed._

_“Well, you know- just, curious, is all...”_

_A knowing look entered Talia’s eyes as she set her book down, lips curling up into a smile. She could see from the corner of her eye as Derek peeked his eyes over his own book, thumbing the pages softly._

_“I didn’t know at first, honey. At first I thought your dad was an obnoxious, ignorant boy who didn’t know any better.”_

_Their Dad’s voice echoed from kitchen, “Hey! You just couldn’t handle all this!”_

_Talia didn’t deign to reply, although the cheeky smirk belied her silence._

_“But.” She started. “But then I got to know him, and I saw how sweet he was with auntie Rosa, and how he was so fiercely loyal to his friends; how he would bring me ice cream after a break up. I knew I loved him when I knew I didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world but with him.”_

*

“Why are you here, Derek?”

“Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song The Only Living Thing by Adam French - awesome song and awesome singer.   
> This has been sitting in my notes for a while, I’m terrible at actual character interactions, hence there isn’t much.


End file.
